As promised...
The little story I wrote the other day.Not so much a Fantasy as a fantasy...
(in other words: no sex, just yearning)
I noticed him as soon as I walked in.
...noticed him in one of those gentle ways that is almost not noticing until viewed through retrospect.
Taking in the whole room with a smooth, circular glance, he was there.
He was seated on a bar stool, facing out toward the room, hunched a bit, making his lankiness fade out of view.
A closer look sent a ripple through me--beautiful eyes, a smile to work for.
As a disjointed part of some other conversation, his possession of a Harley floated toward me, outlined thinly in neon lights, not flashing, as competition for the signs on the wall, but glowing as if they were words sent on the tip of a sword to press with slight menace into my breast bone.
The Harley.
My ears, my eyes--my heartbeats--poised for the turn the dialog would take.
Yes.
Go get it.
Yes.
We want to seeeee....it.
The purring began just under my ribs, a precursor to the roughly rumbling engine which would soon grow louder and stop just outside the door.
The machine.
The man...
The machine!
Stunning.
Like a thief prying into my lungs, robbing me of breath.
I needed it.
The beautiful eyes agreed to a ride and talked softly to me the whole way.
A talker!
With a neck smelling of the way things used to be, the way things ought to be, the way things...are.
The way things are in the cool night air, the way my teeth knew they would find his skin--
his smooth, taut skin, so soft over such sharpness of bone and muscle; impossible.
His neck, smooth next to my nose as I bend to let my eyes rest from the wind.
The rumble below, the sheets of wind parting before us, cutting around us.
Pockets of cold air bringing laughter and the tightening of my thighs on his.
Bumps in the road bringing the tightening of my arms around his chest, of my thighs on his.
Lurching forward from a stop, I constrict around him again, worried that my desire was palpable,
and would tumble off me and cause the bike to skid, flip, send flying.
The night opened out before us, like every dream I've never been able to fill with the right sensations--
wind, engine, warm bodies, laughter, shared exhilaration.
Each still shot making up the movie of that ride was worth its 1000 words, and now I'm drowning in untyped letters, unmoaned urges, untold tales.
**********
Yesterday's hike was lovely.
Couldn't have been better.
Well...
There were 6 perfect places to make
love-not-war.
I counted.
There was the giant, mossy rock jutting out over the small-but-powerful river.
And the leaf-covered clearing, surrounded tightly by slender trees.
There was the fallen tree, a log at just the right height for me to bend over.
Yup, just like that.
There was one spot which would have been perfect for
delicate,
soft,
sweet kinds of touching and tasting and licking and sucking.
But alas, none was to be had.
...I won't tell them all, because you should discover them for yourself.
An invigorating hike and relaxing soak,
bouyed by great conversation was a pretty damn good substitute, though.
And nothing compares to the food consumed after a day of exercise and fresh air.
Nothing.
Well, except maybe a backrub and a blowjob.
heh.
(nope, none of THAT to be had, either, darnit.)
Ok, that's enough for a Monday.
I have articles to write and doctors to visit and showers to take.
(well, only the first noun should be plural, but I was on a roll!)
Happy day, kids! |
posted by Bored Housewife at
12:56 PM
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